


You Just Gotta Find the Right Workout

by PilDoor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chubby Dean, Fluff, Humor, Lawyer Sam, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Oneshot, Pilates, Pilates Instructor Cas, personal trainer cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 13:25:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6986887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PilDoor/pseuds/PilDoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam keeps pestering Dean to work out, and now his personal trainer is doing it too. The trainer is so hot that Dean figures if that can't motivate him to lose weight, then nothing will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Just Gotta Find the Right Workout

**Author's Note:**

> You guys remember Jensen's yoga story, right? Right.

“Motherfucking… Bitch!” Dean grunts under his breath as he circles the block again. Why’d he have to come all the way down town to see his stupid nerd brother anyway? Why couldn’t they just meet at the fucking Roadhouse?

Stupid genius little brothers too busy with their new prestigious jobs.

“Ha!” He finally spots an empty spot and makes a flawless parallel parking before squeezing out of the car. Probably should have just slid the seat back.

He nearly trips over a dog leash and a tiny little ball of fluff yaps at him while a slip of a girl in heels bigger than Dean’s dick glares at him.

He just rolls his eyes. The café he’s meeting Sam at is called Chi – fucking _Chi_! – and there’s a lotus bent in neon in the front window. 

A small bell chimes above him as he enters. The store is small – more of a bar, really. But he thinks it actually says that under the name. 'Chi – juice bar and rendezvous for like-minded spirits'. Everything inside is green. 

There are a few white tables with accompanying chairs, and people lounge on them in yoga pants and muscle tanks, while drinking green and orange juices. Dean sends a reproachful look at the counter. Behind the windows are gluten-free rolls, fruit salads and raw “cakes” (they’re not cakes at all, Sam had brought him one once and the things tasted like straight-up mud).

The worst thing is the array of colorful vegetables and fruits, laid out so the costumers can pick what kind of juice they want. Disgusting.

“Ah, there he is. DEAN!” Sam yells from the bar, he’s leaning against. It’s completely unnecessary, the bar is tiny and now everyone is looking at Dean, probably judging him. Dean doesn’t care. He’d take the indents on his hips from his jeans and his protruding gut over this shit any day.

“Yeah, hey Sammy,” Dean walks up to him. There’s another guy there with Sam. Dean briefly takes note of his ebony hair and clearly used gym clothes. The guy is hot. But he’s also spending time in a place like this, so probably a pain in the ass. Maybe getting to know him would be worth pain in Dean's ass.

Sam spits the straw out of his mouth and Dean sneers at the offending green liquid in his plastic cup, “I grabbed a juice with Castiel here, while I waited. Somehow I just knew you’d be late.”

“Couldn’t find a damn parking spot. Anyway, can we go? I’m hungry,” Dean mumbles.

“Yeah yeah, give me a minute. This is Castiel, by the way. He’s my trainer,” Sam gestures to the guy next to him, who is freaking staring at Dean.

Dean frowns, “hey man.”

A smile breaks out across the other man – Castiel or whatever’s – face. His eyes seem to light up with it and they’re stupid blue. Not that Dean pays it any notice.

“Hello. I’ve heard quite a bit about you from Sam,” he shifts his suspiciously dark purple drink to his other hand to extend the right one for Dean to shake.

“Mhm, I’m sure he’s told you what a delight I am,” he briefly shakes it and looks expectantly at his moose of his brother. Since he’s gotten on this whole fitness craze he’s gotten really big, muscles seeming to give him even more of a presence than his looming height.

He just keeps drinking his juice, already knowing Dean won’t let him bring that abomination with him in his Baby. 

“Do you work out too?” Castiel asks and honestly, yeah fine, so Dean is a little overweight – and a little more overweight than he used to be – but what the hell?

He pulls his jacket closer around him, refusing to feel self-conscious and failing, but he glares at the trainer, “Do I look like I work out?”

Castiel looks taken aback, eyes wide. Dean squints at him. Sam goes to the bathroom and Dean groans breathily under his breath.

“Oh uh, I… guess?” Dean is vaguely aware the other man says next to him. He catches him shifting out of the corner of the eye and turns to look at him again.

“Do you live nearby? Would you like to go get a juice here sometime?” the man kind of fumbles over his words. He’s leaning against the counter on his elbow, his top shifting up slightly to flash a glimpse of the toned V of his hip and pale skin.

Dean rolls his eyes. Another ‘saint’ in sneakers, here to save Dean from his muffin top. Wonderful.

“Not really the juice-drinking type. Cas.” He hopes the message comes across, if not in his words then in his tone, and then Sam comes back, so he gestures to him and turns for the door, “See ya ‘round.”

\----

Dean had expected his brother to know him better than to ask, but maybe the fact that he had gotten him tipsy first meant that he did.

“Pilates? Seriously?” Dean slaps the table in front of him, drops of spilled beer splashing around it. 

Sam shrugs a wide shoulder, “Yeah, I know how much you hate cardio, so why not?”

 _Why not_?!

“I didn’t want to come with you to crossfit, I didn’t want to be a part of your stupid 30 day squat challenge, and sure as fuck wanted no part of your three day juice cleanse, so what in the world makes you think I’d do _fucking pilates_?” he waves Jo down for another beer.

“Aw come on. Pilates it great core exercise and the class accommodates all levels. Cas is the instructor, you remember him right? From the juice bar last week?” Sam finishes the last dregs of his beer just as Jo sets down the next two. 

Both brothers nod their thanks and she’s just about to say something but is interrupted by a drunk asshole whining about more shots from the bar.

She rolls her eyes and leaves.

Dean remembers Cas. Oh boy, does he.

“Yeah, blue eyes, dark hair? He tried to convert me to _juice_ ,” Dean says, voice raising an octave to suggest how offensive he finds that idea.

Sam raises an eyebrow, “Yeah, he’s hot right?”

Dean isn’t sure why he bristles at that. “What, you like guys now?” he didn’t mean for it to sound challenging. Chances are he’ll never see that sexy son of a bitch again anyway. Even if he did why would someone who works out for a living want anything to do with Dean anyway. He has sensitive skin where his thighs rub together and he gets out of breath walking from his car to his apartment.

Sam slams his beer on the table, miscalculating the distance and more beer spills onto the table, “NO! No, Dean, you jerk I meant for _you_! He seemed like your type, right? Dark hair. Kind of awkward?”

Had Cas been awkward? Dean thought he’d just tried to get him to join the gym – a business transaction more than anything.

“Yeah right, why would a _personal trainer_ who moonlights as a fucking Pilates instructor want to date _me_?” he gestures to his body, his stomach nearly pressed against the edge of the table.

“Just because he likes working out it doesn’t mean his dates have to, you know. It’s not like you only date other LARPers, right?”

“So not the same thing, Sam. I LARP for fun. Working out is his _job_.”

Sam kicks Dean shin under the table and acts all nonchalant about it, “Will you come to Pilates or not?”

Dean tries to reach for his bruised shin, but he’s too big to reach under the table, “Fine!”

\-----

They meet in the studio parking lot. Sam is wearing something that looks suspiciously like leggings and a tank top, a rolled mat across his back.

Dean is wearing the basketball shorts he usually reserved for hangovers in the summer and a ratty old T-shirt. He doesn’t have a mat and he glares at Sam and his stupid man-bun.

“You ready?” Sam asks. He hands Dean a sealed waterbottle, knowing that Dean doesn’t work out so he forgets the essentials.

“Let’s just get it over with,” Dean grits and they enter the studio.

“Sam!” a gravelly voice exclaims when they get into the right room.

There are mats of various colors laid out, mostly women stretching on them, though a few older men too. Most of them have tribal tattoos and silver ponytails. 

“Hey Cas,” Sam smiles and walks up to the dark haired man. Dean trudges after him.

“Dean, right? Nice to see you again,” Castiel smiles, practically ignoring Sam.

Dean kicks the floor with a socked feet, feeling way out of place with the white noise (he’s not sure if it’s Ocean or Jungle, but it sounds _wet_ ) and the complete lack of frown lines on any of the participants’ faces.

“Yeah. Sam tricked me into coming. I, uh, I don’t have a mat,” he says.

Cas waves a hand, clearly on his own turf, “Oh don’t worry, we have mats, yoga blocks and straps for everyone. They’re in the corner over there.” He points, one long and slim digit directing Dean towards the opposite corner. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles and starts to make his way over. He catches Sam telling the instructor that he has to leave early, because he has a conference call to make at 7.

Why hadn’t he told Dean this? He’d hoped he could’ve at least talked Sam into buying him dinner after agreeing to this. Asshole.

He grabs a mat off the hooks on the wall and turns to find that Sam has gotten comfortable right up the on the front line. And there’s not a lot he wouldn’t do for Sam, but he’s not gonna humiliate himself in front of Sam, Cas _and_ the whole class.

He settles in the back of the room, hoping that Castiel won’t pay him any attention back there.

The dark-haired man claps and everyone stops talking, “Alright! I think everyone is here, so let’s get started,” he smiles all friendly, and walks over to the speaker to turn up the white noise. 

And no, Dean doesn’t check out his ass in his tight fucking shorts, or the line of his shoulder in the white T-shirt he’s wearing. But there’s not a flaw to find on this dude. There’s a knot of something in between hate and arousal in Dean’s gut. But maybe it’s just the pie a la mode he had for lunch.

Castiel starts folding into all these weird positions – which is totally not fascinating, okay?! – and then unfolds, telling the class to copy it. Dean does the modified versions of everything and he never holds it for the full minute and a half he’s supposed to.

He finds himself on his back, at one point, grunting and sweating into his eyes as he tries to get his legs over his head. Just as he’s about to give up there’s a hand on his calf, pushing gently, “You’re doing very well, Dean,” a voice that in contrastingly deep and soothing says.

Dean grunts some more.

They’re about half an hour in when his back starts to ache. He’s not sure it’s supposed to bent the way Cas wants him to bend it, and he rubs his lower back and his soft sides after giving up on trying.

Cas is back then, “If this hurts too much just sit this one out. You can fold into a child’s pose if you want to give your back a break,” he says it softly so as not to disturb the class and it’s probably only Dean who feels like it’s all intimate.

He hasn’t gotten laid in a while, okay? And Castiel is really hot – even if his job is exercising.

But he bends over his knees as best his can, his stomach getting in the way, and then he gives up on that too and lies down on his back. Pilates is stupid anyway.

He focuses on the white noise and the instructor’s low and comforting rumble as he gives instructions, and ignores the breathing from the other Pilates-goers.

It’s totally not on purpose, but he’s worked overtime every day this week, so it’d been risky business from the beginning. 

He falls asleep.

Much to his mortification when Cas is the one to wake him up.

A firm grip and gentle shake to his shoulder does the trick, and he swats the hand away, “What the hell?” he squints against the overhead lights.

Cas’ dark hair and blue eyes come into view, “You fell asleep, I’m afraid.”

The fucker is grinning so wide he’s practically laughing at him. Dean scowls, “Where the fuck is Sam?” and why had his idiot brother not woken him up?

“He had to go a little a early today.” Cas stands up, seemingly gliding up without any effort. Dean pushes off his hands to get up to his knees and nearly loses his balance as he tries to get up. He shakes Cas’ steadying grip off of him and ignores the pop of his knees.

Dean takes his mat and puts in back in the right spot, “Sorry to fall asleep in the middle of your class. That’s probably really bad etiquette, huh?”

Cas grins some more, “You’re not the first one.”

Dean mumbles something, fully intending on just getting the fuck outta there.

“So I take it you won’t be back next week?” Castiel asks. There’s a glint of amusement in his eye, but also a questioning tilt to his head.

“Nah, sorry man, it’s not for me.”

Castiel kneels next to his hipster backpack near the stereo and Dean, for some reason, stops to wait.

“Well, if you want to get into working out, we could do a session?” he looks up at Dean with raised eyebrows, no ulterior motives here.

Dean is about to come up with an excuse, but Cas is already on his feet again, backpack slung over one shoulder and a white little cardboard card in his hand, extended to Dean, “The first session is free.”

He is fucking beaming and he has really blue eyes, and Dean has always been easy so he doesn’t even think before reaching out to take the card, fingers briefly brushing the trainer’s.

“Uhhh,” he blinks and his brain finally gets into gear, “Yeah thanks. I’ll think about it.”

“See you!” Cas yells after him as Dean leaves. He waves over his shoulder.

He pockets the card with Cas’ number with a smile before he can catch himself. This isn’t him getting a hot guy’s number. This is him being lured into working out, and probably ending up paying Cas a bunch of money in the end.

Castiel had used his fucking sex appeal to score himself another client!

He gets the card out from his pocket, fully intending to crumble it up and throw it away, but finds that he can’t get himself to do it.

Wasn’t Cas hot enough that it was worth it? And maybe, if Dean really turned on the charm, he could get him a date – or maybe just a lay – within one workout session…

\-----

“So…” Sam drags the syllable out as he slides into a chair across from Dean. 

“So?” he cocks an eyebrows. What the fuck is the moose implying now? He squeezes more ketchup onto his plate.

Sam stabs his salad, “So are you really gonna start working out, or is it just because you think Cas is hot?”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, I just came from a session with Cas, and he told me you set up an appointment tomorrow morning,” Sam says with his mouth full of leaves. Dean makes a face.

“Okay, well if you really wanna know, then yeah, I’m doing it to get in his pants. He said the first session was free, so I figured why not?” Dean shrugs and takes a sip of Dr. Pepper, internally grinning at offending Sam with his brashness.

And Sam groans, “Come on, Dean! Can’t you be a little more romantic? I mean my first session certainly wasn’t free. Ask him on a date! When was the last time you went on one anyway?”

Dean stuffs more fries into his mouth and chews them sourly.

“Are you serious right now? Have you not been out with anyone since Aaron?” Sam’s eyes bulge.

Dean sighs and glares at Sam, “I went out with Tessa that one time.”

Sam sighs, all sensitive and chick-flick moment eyes as he gives Dean that look. That fucking godforsaken pitying look, “I know Aaron was a dickbag, but don’t you think you should get back out there? I’m only saying this because I want you to be happy, you know.”

What can Dean do beside roll his eyes? He doesn’t want to talk about Aaron anymore. Not that he ever did, but it’s been eight months – not that he’s counting or keeping score whenever he gets even slightly drunk or anything. He’d told Sam and Jo one night, two months after the break-up, while drunk on one too many shots of tequila. 

He’d buried it all down with all the other things he didn’t think or care about, but it had risen to the surface that night, and had Dean babbling his insecurities and hurt to his brother and, for all intents that mattered, sister.

How Aaron had told him to lose weight, how he’d been embarrassed to be seen with him, how he’d broken up with Dean when he’d gained five pounds, because that was the opposite direction the weight should have gone.

He stuffs another handful of fries into his mouth, ketchup smearing at the side of his mouth and he washes it down with another gulp of soda.

The chick-flick moment is over, he decides, and he asks Sam about Jess and the baby instead.

\-----

The dreaded gym session rolls around, and Dean could honestly have prepared a little better.

He’s in the same basketball shorts and T-shirt from Pilates, and he forgot to bring water again.

“Do you have shoes?” Castiel asks. He’s hovering over Dean in the changing room and he mentally pats himself on the shoulder for showing up already wearing gym clothes.

Dean looks down at his dusty work boots, “Uuhhh…”

Cas doesn’t even rolls his eyes, “What size are you? I’ll see if I can find some in the lost and found bin.”

Dean tells him and Cas nods before leaving. He comes back with a ratty old pair that was probably left on purpose but Dean isn’t really in the position to be picky.

While they walk through the weight-lifting section to get to the cardio area (oh no!) big guys with tattoos and perky asses clap Cas’ on the shoulder and greet him through grunts from low squats.

Dean keeps his gaze forward, ignoring how everyone here is hotter than him, how Cas would never choose him. Then he shakes it off. He gives a mean blowjob and he’s open to almost everything. Cas would be so lucky!

He’s on a treadmill and Castiel is standing to the side, showing Dean which buttons do what. Dean knows, of course. He’s had about thirty gym memberships since he was 18 when he’d started gaining weight.

“So just start off with a walk, for about five to seven minutes or till you’re warm, and then you can start a slow jog,” Castiel tells him, looking up at Dean who nods.

“Novak!” a tiny girl with biceps more defined that Dean’s yell from a mat on the floor somewhere, and Cas gives Dean an apologetic look, “I’ll be right back.”

The girl is side by side with another guy and they both stop doing sit-ups to chat to Cas, who is all smiles. Especially to the guy, who Cas starts putting his hands on to fix his form.

The guy is lying down so Dean can’t get a good look of him, but he’s slender and his features are chiseled, and he definitely doesn’t have a double chin. Dean presses the button to get to a jog.

Castiel is on his way back to Dean when a giant man (is that the Rock?) stops him to chat to him. Dean’s mood sours further as they talk and nod and laugh at each other. Then Cas nods towards Dean, and Dean catches the other man planting a solid slap on Cas’ ass, and he stops in his tracks.

That, of course, it not something you can do on a treadmill and he stumbles over his feet trying to make it, but ultimately glides right off, ending in a heap against the treadmill behind him. Lucky for him, it had been unoccupied. Yes, so very lucky. 

Cas’ eyes widens and he rushes over to kneel down next to him, and Dean swats his hand away when he tries to help him to sit up.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” Dean mumbles, head completely cherry red and he tips onto his knees to push himself up. Cas stands up next to him.

“Maybe we’ll move on from the treadmill. Are you okay to continue?” he asks, a hand gliding from Dean’s shoulder to his elbow. His elbow that is now skinless and burns slightly. 

Dean wants to leave, but that would almost be more embarrassing. So he nods, and follows Cas to the other section where those tiny toned people were still doing ab exercises. He handed Dean a mat before getting one for himself.

“Let’s start with sit-ups. 3 sets of 25,” Castiel says and Dean gets into position. He can’t get all the way up without cheating and Cas moves to press his hands on Dean’s feet to keep them in the floor.

“Come on, all the way up,” Cas tries to motivate him. But his face is right over Dean’s knees and he’s way too fucking close.

“You can do it, push yourself,” he goes on, uncharacteristically soft for a personal trainer, eyes never wavering from Dean. Dean glares and strains to get all the way up, only to slam his forehead right into Cas’, “Oh fucking-!” Dean groans.

Cas groans without expletives, and then puts a hand on Dean’s jaw, “are you okay?” he looks at Dean’s forehead.

Dean leans back, out of his grip, “’M fine. You okay?”

Castiel chuckles, “Yeah. Sorry, that was my fault.” Dean smiles and is about to say something, something sweet and flirty probably because Cas’ eyes are blue and kind, and Dean's jaw is still warm from his touch but then the guy with the chiseled face calls Cas over.

“Maybe you’ll be better off doing these by yourself. I’ll be right back,” he smiles at Dean.

Dean finishes the sets and Cas is standing by the treadmills, leaning against the one the chiseled guy is on, running at a pace that would have Dean gasping, and they’re keeping a perfect conversation.

He does the plank for a minute, and then one more when Cas is still chatting away.

Then he puts both his and Cas’ mats back and walks towards them, but stops. They seem to be flirting. Cas had probably figured that Dean wasn’t intending to buy another session.

He tries to keep his head high, but ultimately slumps his shoulders as he walks back to the changing room. 

He takes a quick shower, luckily without any company, though he does think he hears the door and a gasp but when he turns there’s no one there. He gets changed in the bathroom.

When he gets back, now in jeans, a T-shirt and an open flannel over it, Cas is there.

“The hour isn’t up,” Cas says, and twists his hands in what seems like a nervous manner.

Dean walks past him, shooting him a quick glance, “Yeah, well I’m done.”

It’s silent when Dean ties his boots and still when he packs up his stuff, but he knows Cas hasn’t left. When he turns to him, he seems to be holding something back.

“What’s up?”

“I’m sorry I kind of abandoned you out there. You must think I’m terrible at my job,” he shifts on his feet, the trainers squeaking slightly.

“It’s fine,” Dean waves him off. He gets it, he obviously isn’t motivated and he half-assed everything, so why would Cas want to waste his time. Especially when he’d given him the hour for free, which, if Sam was to be believed, he wasn’t actually supposed to.

Castiel shifts some more. Dean grabs his bag, hoisting it over his shoulder. 

“Do you want to grab lunch?” Cas says just as Dean has opened his mouth to say goodbye.

And, uh, what?

“Lunch?” he asks, eyebrows raised. Surely this wasn’t part of the deal.

Cas actually _blushes_ , and it’s downright adorable. Dean is in over his head.

The trainer clears his throat, “Yeah. I don’t have to be back until three. Unless, of course, you have somewhere to be? Or-or don’t want to. I mean that’s fine too-“

“Relax! Sure, Cas, let’s grab lunch.” 

And Cas fucking grins, gums showing and eyes lighting up. Dean beams back, he can’t help himself.

“Let me go get changed real quick. You can wait in the reception if you want,” he suggests and they leave the changing room together. 

Dean sits down on one of the couches in the lounging area (which, why would a gym have that?) and Cas promises to be quick before disappearing into the staff’s changing room.

\-----

They’re walking towards Dean’s car when it dawns on him that Castiel probably doesn’t eat burgers and shit. He probably wants to go to the godforsaken juice bar. And Dean thinks that if that’s what it takes to spend another half – or even a whole – hour with the guy, then he’s okay with that.

“Where do you wanna go?” Cas asks as Dean is backing out of the parking spot.

He glances at him, trying to seem nonchalant, “I was thinking Chi.”

“What?”

Dean licks his lips, “Yeah, that juice bar or whatever.” Do they even serve actual food? He thinks he saw some sandwiches stuffed full of tofu and leaves there.

“No, I know, I just… I didn’t think you were all that impressed with the place?” Cas sounds confused. Dean shrugs.

“Well, I don’t know any other places with low-carb food or whatever, so…”

“We don’t have to go to a place like that for my sake. Where’s your favorite place?” he asks.

Dean chews his bottom lip. He’s not typically one to get embarrassed. He’d obviously come to terms with his lifestyle and body, or he would have changed it.

“The Roadhouse. It’s this diner slash bar.”

“Let’s go there,” Castiel finalizes. 

\-----

Dean gets the bacon cheeseburger, and to his surprise Cas orders the same thing.

“Didn’t take you as a burger kinda guy,” Dean divulges.

Castiel smirks, “It’s not all chicken breasts and cauliflower, you know.”

Dean grins and shrugs, “I don’t actually.” But he did know that Sam had a cheat day, every Sunday, where he’d rival Dean in how many donuts a grown man could put away. It would make sense that Cas would implement that same philosophy, he supposes.

There’s a little bit of awkward silence between them. Dean wonders why Cas is here, what they’re doing.

“You’re a mechanic, right?” Castiel asks out of nowhere.

“Huh? Yeah, been fixing cars since I was a teen, really.”

Castiel nods, seeming genuinely interested. What the hell, right?

“So that’s what you’ve always done?” he asks then. A waitress who must be new, because Dean doesn’t know her brings them their food.

“Yeah. I went to college to study pre-med, actually, but I… I dropped out,” why did he tell him that? Who tells someone they want to get into bed about their failures?

Cas sits back and finishes swallowing (Dean totally doesn’t follow the bopping of his Adam’s apple, he doesn’t!) before he speaks, “Yeally? How come? Uh, if you don’t mind me asking.”

Dean swallows his own bite, “Nah, it’s fine. My dad passed away during my second semester, so I had to work full-time.”

The other man gapes slightly, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay,” Dean shrugs, “At least Sam got to go.” He tries for a smile. Cas takes it.

Before he can ask more Dean starts, “Did you always know you wanted to be a personal trainer?”

Cas huffs a laugh, “No, not at all. I was more of the… bookish type, growing up. Then my sister dragged me along to Pilates one time and it just kind of went from there. I have a degree in accounting, actually.”

Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise and the conversation continues from there, touching on all sorts of topics, from childhoods and parents to the best flavor of pie and everything in between. It’s the best time Dean has had in awhile, and when Cas gets up to use the bathroom, he stares at his ass that is perfectly hugged by the denim of his jeans all the way. 

He’s about to smirk before he catches himself. What the fuck are they doing? This is surely not a date! It can’t be, someone like Castiel would never-

He moves his fries around on his plate, deep in thought and Cas has to snap his fingers in front of his face to get his attention.

Cas smiles amused, “You with me?”

Dean grimaces in lieu of a smile and nods.

“Is everything alright?” Cas asks, catching on to Dean’s change in mood.

Dean leans back in the booth, “What is this, Cas? What are we doing?”

Castiel blushes, “I- I thought it was a… a date?” he asks, insecurity clear on his voice.

Dean raises his eyebrows in surprise, “But _why_? Why would _you_ wanna go out with someone like me?” he gesture to his stomach and half-empty plate.

Castiel’s eyes follows the gesture and he licks his lips before replying, “I thought it was obvious? I’m very attracted to you, Dean.”

And hold the fuck up, alright? 

“B-but I’m _fat_!” he says without meaning to. Aaron really hurt him, okay?

Castiel swallows, “I think you’re gorgeous. Body included.”

“What?”

The trainer blushes a deep crimson, “I might’ve walked in on you in the shower at the gym.”

Dean flails, “What?!”

“I’m sorry.”

A grins breaks over Dean’s face, “Well, let’s get the fuck out of here!” he throws a few twenties on the table to cover the bill plus tips.

\-----

“How did the session with my brother go?” Sam asks in between sets of pull-ups.

Castiel is leaning against the machine, a brief blush seeming to cover his cheeks, “Oh uhm, it… not so well. I don’t think he’s coming back.”

“Really?” he uncaps his water bottle, “I saw a new pair of sneakers at his house, though.”

Cas clears his throat and shifts his feet awkwardly. Sam looks down, “Hey, it was the same as yours! Did you guys go shopping for workout gear together?”

“No, must’ve been a coincidence. Let’s move on,” he says quietly, clearly wanting to change the subject.

Sam sits down on the bench, while Cas reaches up to put on more plates on the bar. It’s not that he looks but he briefly notices Cas’ tank top riding up, exposing the V of his hips. He turns back to his water bottle. Then it registers.

“What’s that?” Sam asks surprised. Cas puts his arms down, the top falling with them to cover the strip of midriff. 

“Hm?”

Without any reserve Sam reaches right over to lift up his top, much to Cas surprise. He steps back with a squeak, but Sam definitely caught it, “Is that a _hickey_?!”

Cas pulls down the hem of his top, even though it’s already covering the mark and blushes profusely.

Sam gapes.

“You slept with him?!”

His face is still red but he shrugs, “You knew I was into him. You told me to go for it.”

Sam groans, “So he was all happy and smiley and fucking _wincing_ whenever he sat down the other day because of _you_?!”

“Which day? We’ve kinda been doing it a lot,” Cas bites his lower lip apologetically. 

“EWW!”

“Sorry,” he shrugs again, “He actually has more stamina that you’d think.”

Sam slings him arm across his eyes and slumps down on the bench so he’s lying on it. It’s with a strained voice he says, “Shut up, just… shut up.”

They finish their workout and as they walk to the water fountain for a refill Sam asks, “So if you’re gonna be my brother in law, does that mean I get a discount?”

“You wish.”


End file.
